


Fated to Meet but not Destined to be Together

by fanfictioner22



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, NejiTen Month 2018, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 23:52:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15807087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictioner22/pseuds/fanfictioner22
Summary: Hicran: a deep feeling of sorrow and grief that comes from being separated from one’s beloved.Written for NejiTen month 2018. I love my dorks





	Fated to Meet but not Destined to be Together

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, this is a reincarnation fic with NejiTen. A small reminder that the characters have different names when they get reborn, I tried to make them similar to their original names but failed so all you need to know is that the capital letters are the same. So, ‘T’ for Tenten and ‘N’ for Neji.

_Hicran: a deep feeling of sorrow and grief that comes from being separated from one’s beloved._

* * *

 

The first reality is harsh, demanding and completely ruthless. Many obstacles stand in their way, willingly and unwillingly, and even though they feel something, a strange pull deep-down, unexpected yet familiar both are to bust to just sit and understand _what this is._ Their responsibilities come first and their lives are separated by social standing and duties they couldn’t easily ignore. And yet, _and yet,_ foolishly and hopelessly their eyes meet in silent promises and hands twitch for ghostly touches both yearn for…

Faster and faster, a slender figure darted through blood-soaked sand totally silent except the whistling wind she leaves at her wake. Tired legs ache with each stride, but additional chakra forcefully running through them keeps them relatively functioning.

The small bud of hope she so stubbornly clings to in her chest is wilting faster than she is running. Running towards the spot she has last felt him waver and even though she is nearing, the feeling doesn’t get stronger. Like a candle snuffed in the wind, only the transparent grey smoke remains in her minds-eye instead of the strong and controlled curling coils she is used and –

Tenten shoves it away. Overthinking is _his_ thing, not _hers_.

Skidding over the hot golden sand, chest heaving and eyes searching Tenten stops. As if synchronized so does her heart.

Her knees sink into the sand; she doesn’t register the cooler temperature under her or the cold ice replacing the blood in her veins. Her eyes are completely dry, even though she expected to wail and cry – at least a few stray tears to escape; however, nothing. Stiff limps, shaking shoulders and shattered eyes are her only signs of grief.

Like this, sprawled under the midday sun his long hair tangled over the sand, Neji seems to be resting his eyes. The usually peaceful image is ruined, his skin is too pale, chest completely still and warm blood completely dying his slit neck a rich red.

Tenten wants to scream but nothing gets past her closed throat.

This fucking war, this war that destroyed _everything,_ so many lives lost, so many dreams shattered, so many futures that won’t happen… she remembers the tired looks of her allies, the possible end of the war bringing a small sliver hope in the heavy atmosphere hanging around their shoulders every single shinobi seemed to carry around.

A future.

A future _he_ convinced her as possible and a future that now isn’t going to happen.

Tenten really wants to scream, but instead, she scoots closer her cracked lips a hair away from his ear.  She breathes in the faint scent of smoke, of intense training in the early mornings, of several missions side-by-side, of mighty trees and bitter tea, of pale eyes and sharp looks – 

“Next time.” It’s a promise, broken and cracked and heavy with emotion. Her fingers brush his long hair away fondly, a move she never had the opportunity to do and it brings more weight over her already tired shoulders. “Next time for sure.”

* * *

 

Their second reality is worse than their first. It might be less dangerous without chakra or jutsu, however, fate still deals them unlucky cards.

She isn’t the most beautiful or the most skillful, neither the most cunning among the enormous harem residents, but somehow, Taika manages to pass her days by without having too much attention on herself.

She lets loose her blood-red silk shawl around her bare creamy shoulders, welcoming the cold. The desert is freezing cold once the cruel sun hides away and even though it’s been six years since she was sold to the palace, Taika misses her hometown in the far up North so much that she lets the chilly night air comfort her with memories of better times. Her scalp aches under the numerous precious jewels weaved into her sleek silver-blonde hair weighing it down. Another aspect she had to get used to in her golden cage.

“It’s not smart to wander the desert night with a thin shawl.”

Taika doesn’t turn towards the heavily accented voice, warm and comforting like a cup of spicy hot tea during a snowstorm. The desert has its own storms but the plain brown sand isn’t as magnificent as the pure blizzards she is used to. Her heart does fasten its rhythm, desperately hitting her chest as another wave of nostalgia hits.  

“Advisor.” She greets him, voice low and purring. Just like she was thought by the older harem girls. “Lovely night to be strolling, isn’t it?”

Her cherry painted lips are a perfect replica of a sultry smile as the Sultan’s trusted Advisor stops in front of her.

“Colder than usual.” He comments. Unnaturally pale eyes under long lashes sweep the empty courtyard. The first time she had met the Advisor she thought him blind and yet, his eyes are sharp like a hunting hawk. “Almost reminds me of summers on the borders of the Nord. Mind keeping me company for a walk, Lady Taika?”

She keeps her smile and nods. The Advisor is a clever man, the Sultan wouldn’t have kept him by his side for so long otherwise. He is a cunning politician and a brilliant strategist, in the safe corners of her mind Taika knows that the only reason the bratty Sultan hadn’t yet ruined the kingdom, is walking by her side.

She feels warm under her revealing jeweled undergarments she hates to call clothing. Her attendants usually pamper her in bright bold colors like red, pink and purple, going well with her exotic white skin and pale hair.  She walks, slow in a way to accentuate her numerous curves, her long and heavy braid bouncing on her behind and the Advisor matches her pace, his thoughtful gaze always in front.

He is the perfect gentlemen until they reach a secluded spot of the garden with a glorious magnolia tree shadowing a great portion with its tall branches, only then, he pulls her close into the safety of the shadows.

“I missed you, Taika.”

Raw emotion thickens his accent and Taika loves the way the words roll off his tongue. Her manicured fingers helplessly grasp his cotton overcoat and she anchors herself to his presence and the sweet scent of magnolias.

“Naaji, I missed you too.”  She briefly lets herself enjoy his embrace and then she pulls back. “It’s dangerous, what if we are seen? Should the Sultan came to know-”

The Sultan’s advisor fervently shakes his head and takes her deeper into the darkness. “Would you prefer staying away from me?”

Her red lips close so fast she hurts her jaw. As if sensing her pain, Naaji massages her delicate jaw; her pale skin seems a sicker white against his sun-tanned fingers. 

“A smart man does not ask questions for which he knows the answer.” She responds, fingers sliding up, up and up to his strong jaw.

The ghost of a true smile lifts his lips and Taika can’t help but have a taste. She tastes the rich flavored tea he prefers to have after his dinner with a hint of ash from the shisha. Naaji tightens his hold around her slender waist, brings her closer and closer while he kisses her deeper and deeper.

In those precious seconds, only they exist, two hearts beating as one under the silent watch of a magnolia tree.

Separation is difficult but Naaji frees her lips from his. During the passionate exchange, his headwear had fallen and Taika takes the chance of running her fingers through his short curly hair. Somehow, she knows he looks even more handsome with longer hair and there is a phantom feeling of longer and straight strands between her fingers.

“We can’t risk anymore, Naaji. My body belongs to the Sultan and the only thing I can offer you is my heart.” Taika says, and it takes so much power to utter them.

Naaji’s big hands settle on her uncovered hips and back and Taika shudders under the strong touch. “Just a bit longer, my snowflake,” he whispers to her ear, leaving a kiss on her jaw. “Hang on a little longer and we shall be free to love each other.”

It’s easy to get swept by the dream they create together under the starry sky. Naaji’s plan is solid and they fiercely believe they can run away from their roles but they are caught and both executed on the spot for treason.

And they will try in another life.

* * *

 

This time it takes them two centuries to meet.

Saying that she is utterly bored would be an understatement.  

Tessa jumps down from her perch on the roof to the sidewalk with the ease practice brings. A quick check on her phone shows that it’s still too early to eat but she is hungry and bored with nothing else to do.

What the hell, it’s 8 o’clock somewhere.  She should be able to eat when she wants. Tossing her long brick-red hair off her shoulder, her dark eyes scan the bright neon signs of the several downtown bars. Some idiot has been hunting in the upper-class nightclubs lately and too many deaths would bring unwanted attention there, so she has to change her usual pick up places. She knows this, but the assaulting smell of cheap alcohol and minty-sharp drugs burn her sensitive nose.

Her leather boots click on the uneven road as she makes her way to the only decent nightclub in the zone. A black cat darts through the side as someone screams/moans in the back alley.

These parts certainly don’t lack prostitutes.

And doesn’t that remind her about the old times, when people still rode on horses instead of cars, when wide puffy skirts and big fake wigs were the fashion for women while men never left their house without a proper cane and hat, when social standing dictated your whole life, the poor worked till death while the rich threw fancy tea parties.

She remembers times when she was a human, laying on her back for a few gold coins to feed herself, of broken girls like her shuffled together inside an old building, of sugary tones and fake moans and the disgusting stink of expensive tobacco.

The growl Tessa lets slip from her lips, the rattling of her vocal cords, is more animal than human.

She hasn’t been one in a long, _long_ , time.

It takes a cheeky smile and a wink for the hypnosis to settle in for the big guy in the entrance to grant her permission inside. The place is packed despite the early hour, the music is loud, and her nose is overwhelmed with the stink of sex, drugs, and sweat. It will be difficult to find a prey cocaine-free.

Her dark eyes scan the crowd - her nose is of no use in here- looking for the telltale signs of lucidity among the dancing bodies. It takes her almost one hour of turning her nose and yet there isn’t a single person up to her standards. The neon flickering lights do not impede her vision as Tessa once again turns her bored gaze around the club. And she finds a prey suiting her tastes enter.

He is tall broad shouldered and thick arms with a frame that definitely sees the gym regularly. She can’t exactly tell but he seems to have pale eyes either green or blue and his semi-short blond hair is brushing along his sharp jaw.

He looks absolutely mouth-watering and Tessa’s gut clenches with hunger, reminding her why she is here.

She easily makes her way through the crowd, kohl-lined eyes trained on the brooding stranger. It doesn’t take him long to notice her approach and Tessa curls her red painted lips in a flirty smile.

She slides to his side, hip jutted out and chest pushed out and she purrs, “Hey there handsome.”

His eyes are neither blue nor green but a pretty shade of violet. Tessa comes closer and she picks up his natural scent under all the nauseating other smells and –

_Like a candle blown in the wind, sunshine through green leaves, like ink drying on paper, a cool breeze in hot summer days, a hand-woven blanket curled around bare shoulders in windy autumn season._

-The sensations shake her posture and she almost buries her nose on his pale neck just to smell him _more_. Restraint becomes difficult but somehow Tessa controls her limbs. She cannot rip him apart in the middle of a club just because she got a little bit too hungry. Lee would never let her live it down.

The stranger looks at her. At the skillfully applied makeup, long leather boots and the skin tight short blue jumpsuit with a generous cleavage. He likes what he sees, Tessa smells it on his skin and the added lust on his already amazing scent just drives her _crazy_.

“Hello,” he greets her. He’s definitely well-bred with his aristocratic bone structure and cool voice. “How can I help you, miss?”

Oh, he is just cute enough to eat. _Literally_.

Tessa’s gums tingle and her sharp fangs are itching to break through the skin keeping them hidden.

She will have him. All be damned.

“Oh, I'm sure we can come up with something to help me.” She winks, getting closer to purr inside his ear. Tessa feels his shoulders tremble and can’t help herself but nip at his exposed throat. “Looking for a companion tonight, handsome?”

Large eager hands settle on her back as the stranger tugs her form towards the exit. Her smirk does nothing to hide her hunger and she is pleased to see his pale eyes darken with want.

The night sky is calmer and less oppressing, Tessa breathes in deeply and this time her fangs breakthrough, hidden behind her close-lipped smile.

Her back meets the brick wall as the tall hottie cages her in inside his muscled arms. Tessa’s brow lifts but she doesn’t dare speak and reveal her nature. Long fingers brush her hair away, sliding down her cheek, neck, and shoulder just to travel back up. Her skin tingles by the touch and her eyelids drop as a moan bubbles up her throat.

She is hungry. But now, this man managed to light a different hunger inside her veins. A touch of spice tainted his scent, taunting, tempting. The hunger tore her dry mouth, telling her to feed on the singing heart-beat in front of her. His scent fills her nose sweet and spicy, calling to her and she imagines how his blood must taste like.

And yet she doesn’t attack.

“I don’t do this often.” The stranger says his warm breath is like a whisper on her cold skin. A leg presses against her knees and a hand soon follows. “But you're lovely enough to warrant an exception.”

Oh, damn it all. She won’t let him play her like a damn instrument.

So with all the patience of a six-years-old, Tessa pushes her lips against his, desperate and needy and very much determinate to bring this stranger to his knees. The hunger thrashes within her, burning through her veins like some poison. Tessa ignores it, for a moment.

He is surprised if the muffled noise and wide eyes are any sign and Tessa smugly takes it as an invitation to delve deeper with her tongue. Her sharp nails scraped down his pale neck, teasing his collarbone through his leather-clad shoulders.

Then, those lips start devouring her, parting her lips with his insistent tongue. Electric and all of a sudden, it burns through them, sad and melancholic, tightening their muscles and clenching their hearts.

His hands twine through her brick-red hair as her clawed fingers clutch his shoulders. Her eyes burn, the sensations too intense and so familiar yet completely strange.

The hand not on her hair, slips under her thigh, cupping her shaped behind. Tessa gasps inside his mouth and his tongue flick over her sharp canines.

She trembles, pressure building inside her stomach as the pale fingers roam and tease her skin. Tessa is falling, so close to the edge but something holds her back. Right at the tip of her tongue, a distant memory hidden behind a muddy glass.

Hot. His skin is hot, way too hot as Tessa pants to the open night sky, eyes blood red and sharp fangs in a display for the whole world to see. Her secret is out she should – she should do something about it. It’s… not – permitted their existence –

She couldn’t think. The effort is too much.

“Did you -” Tessa murmurs, as the stranger lets her lips just to pepper kisses on her exposed chest. She is crying and feeling so much sadness that it – just – spills over her eyes. “Poison?” her vision blurs but she can still feel the hard set of shoulders, rigid and – and angry or is it sorrow?  - under her claws. She knows the answer already. “ _Hunter_.”

Through her tears, she sees another man, longer hair and paler eyes with a tattoo on his forehead – then, it shifts – he is shorter but tanned with a mop of curls and the cheekiest smile ever. He knows them both, she does, but the names are far away as holy silver destroys her from the insides.

The hunter holds her boneless form and they both slide down. He is still above her, caging her smaller frame and his hands are awkwardly gentle as he cradles her head closer to his chest.

Emotions flick across his violet eyes and Tessa smiles, silver and blood rolling down her lips. Her shaking hand lands on his cheek.

“You were hunting down the innocent.” He murmurs, his eyes are wet but he seems to be unaware why he’s crying. “It’s my job to protect the human race.”

“It,” the words are heavy on her swollen tongue but she stubbornly forces them out. “Not me.” Deep breathes gurgle her liquid-filled lungs. “New guy.”

The hunter closes his eyes, pain sharp and raw, chokes him. “I’m sorry.”

And Tessa remembers. “Naaji.” She says and then repeats. “Neji.”

The stranger lowers his head until his bare forehead is resting on hers. The light is almost gone on her dark eyes and her pale skin has turned gray with death. “Neil.”

* * *

 

In this life, their meeting is cut short.

Tsetseg is running along the sidewalk, rain beating down and completely drenching her small form as she speeds up. She is already late for class and the weather certainly isn’t helping her case with the way that it’s adding general _Chaos_ with a capital C.

Nayden just catches a glimpse of a sailor uniform, the cute brown bun on top of her head and olive skin. The sole second is all he needs as he remembers another girl with brick-red hair dying in his arms. An image he constantly dreams since childhood along with a pale skinned blonde with jeweled clothing among the desert sand and a skilled brunette that easily wields any weapon under her fingers, the tall trees around her like silent guardians.

They are all different and yet the same.

He’s up from his small table in the shop as fast as he dares. Throwing a few bills to cover his forgotten coffee, Nayden runs out under the rain. His long legs eat the ground and he can see the high school student dart towards the opposite sidewalk while the light is still red.

It happens so fast.

Nayden has her flush to his body, hands supporting her fragile head. His back is burning with pain and a pool of blood is forming under him. He hears the screech of a tire and the thunder-clap above the clouds, hurried voices and phones ringing for an ambulance.

He won’t make it. 

Nayden doesn’t care.

The girl moves, slowly, her head tilts and her hazel eyes meet his grey ones.

There is fear and shock but not recognition. 

Seeing as he is dying, Nayden counts it as a blessing rather than a curse.

“Mister?” her voice breaks and she is so young maybe 15 or 14 and Nayden feels older than his 38 years. “Are you…” she trails off.

“It’s alright.” He assures her, how can he not? “It was worth it. After the last time, I say, I even deserved it. Everything is –

* * *

 

For some reason, Nemanja always liked walking past the half-burned house at the end of his street. He asked his mother once, why no one lives there, and her mother had such sad eyes, full of grief and sorrow that left little Nemanja speechless. She kneels and hugs the small boy close to her chest.

“My best friend lived there,” she murmurs into his soft brown hair. “She had a beautiful baby girl that would have been your age now.”

Nemanja nods and buries his nose on her mother’s lilac sweater. He doesn’t ask where they are now, he knows of the fire that ate away the building.

Years pass. Nemanja grows older and keeps passing by the old house. There’s bone-deep sorrow that aches every time he sees the rubble and yet, it doesn’t deter him from visiting.

Maybe he is a masochist.

He never dared to enter inside though, until one Halloween night when he is 17. His friends dare each other to stay the whole night in the haunted house. Somehow, the idea makes him sick and excited. They camp inside in the hall, the only place that still had standing walls and nothing happens.

Nemanja is somewhat disappointed.

Did he expect to see a ghost?

A few years later, freshly graduated and working for a prestigious law firm, Nemanja buys the property. It takes him and the team of constructors several months to turn the house livable again.

There is a hatch under the stairs that lead to the basement and Nemanja finds the remaining belongings of a family that used to live.

A particular photo catches his attention. A girl around seven-years-old is smiling brilliantly at the camera holding the ends of her green dress in a playful bow. She is under the old oak tree in the garden that still stands today. Her wavy caramel hair is divided into high bound pigtails and uneven bangs brush her over her honey eyes.

She looks so happy. And alive.

He turns the picture, scrawled messily is the date and a name.

“Tashi.” He whispers. His voice loud in the silent basement.

“That be me.” A girl voice answers. “You called?”

Nemanja lets out a very high-pitched scream as he crawls away from the girl _floating_ in the middle of the room. His mouth is hanging open and his pale skin gets even paler.

The girl sighs and lovers herself until her bare feet touch the pavement. “I didn’t know you’d be able to see me. Sorry, didn’t mean ta scare you. Though, it’s probably not every day you see a dead girl floating around. Understandable, really.”

He can see through _her_. The ghost, _Tashi_ , is standing in front of him and she is just like the picture he is holding.

Same caramel pigtails, round honey eyes, and the green dress. The only change is that she is taller and her face lost most of its baby fat. She looks like a teenager.

“You-” Nemanja’s voice breaks and it’s not from fear. There is familiarity that he can’t put his finger on.  “Why?”

The ghost-girl shrugs. “Well, it’s my house. I should ask the same thing to you, mister.”

“Nemanja.” He swallows, nervous still but a touch more centered. “I bought the terrain. It’s my house now.” His brows knit together. “I’ve been doing constructions for a couple of months and it’s the first time I've encountered you.”

“Beats me.” The girls says. “Don’t give me that look. I'm as much as lost as you. One moment I'm coughing from the smoke and next I could float through walls. I tried to leave, go towards the light or something but I can’t go past the fence around the house.” She puffs, her bangs swishing up and falling down again. “Well, I guess we are roomies now!”

“Hey!” Nemanja gets up to his feet. “Do not take decisions without consulting me first! I legally own this house and as the owner, I request you to leave.”

Tashi gives him a flat look. “Didn’t you hear about the part where I said I can’t leave? We are stuck together.” she rolls her eyes. “Oh man, this is going to be so much fun.”

Nemanja highly doubts it. “Why do you look older?”

The girl brings a hand over her chest. “Rude! You can’t go around asking a girl her age or why they look old!” she fumes, eyes hard. “I changed my mind, _leave_. This is my house.”

Nemanja blinks. He is having a fight with a dead girl who looks like an adult but has the mentality and temper of a child. “Who do you think you are to evict me from my own house?” he asks, incredulous.

“I was here first!” she replies hotly. “I'm also a dead girl so I should get the pity vote.”

Bringing up his hand, the young man massages his temples. Joy. He should have accepted the job offer in Boston.

Somehow, between childish fights and heated arguments, they both settle down into their daily life. Days lead to weeks, weeks lead to months, months lead to years. He watches his cousin get married to the dumbest but most sincere boy he has met, he looks after his little niece and later nephews. He becomes an accomplished lawyer makes a name for himself and one day, maybe a bit earlier than he imagined himself, he retires. Nemanja’s hair gains silver strands and the lines on his face get deeper.

And life moves on.

Yet, the only unmoving thing in his life is the dead girl-roommate living under his roof. Along the way, he started to care for little Tashi as annoying, loud, childish, stubborn, irrational as she could be. With the mental age of a child, Tashi is also very curious, sincere, positive and quick to smile. She manages to always keep him entertained and somehow complete his life. He doesn’t need a wife or kids, his cousin is birthing enough to keep the family line going and one night stands from time to time keeps him satisfied.

Nemanja is content with his life. He never cared much for romance and he doesn’t feel alone with Tashi by his side to keep him company. One day he tried to bring a puppy, thinking that the little dog could be a nice addition, however, the animal sensed the ghost Tashi float around and Nemanja had to bring the pup back.

“It seems man can survive without love,” Tashi whispers one morning. They are sitting in the kitchen and Nemanja has a woolen blanket around his shoulders. The days are getting colder and Nemanja managed to catch a nasty flu that kept him inside the whole week. “It’s a sad existence but at least is an existence.”

He looks at the young girl but Tashi keeps her blank stare fixed on the window. She’s been awfully quiet the past week and no bribing brought back her energy.

“Tashi?”

She turns. Her honey eyes are far too old and heavy with something. Nemanja wants to help her, take some of her burdens but the look on her face keeps him silent.

“Well,” he clears his throat, feeling awkward. His shoulders shake with a violent cough that burns through his throat and he blows into the ever-present napkin to clear his nose. “I’ll see you in the morning. I'll be retiring for the night.”

Tashi nods, pearly teeth firmly biting onto her shaking lip. Nemanja doesn’t see it as her back is to him. “Yeah,” she says voice small and rough. “I’ll see you next time.”

Nemanja throws her a curious look but he shrugs it off as another temper tantrum of the ghost teen. He makes his way towards his room and slips under his heavy covers to sleep.

“I think it was my turn to remember.” Still perched on her chair and still staring outside, Tashi confides inside the lonely kitchen. “Stupid Neji. You had the chance to fall in love with a living girl and yet you stubbornly stayed by my side. Even without our past memories, you manage to irritate me.” She huffs hugging her slim arms around her legs and curls herself into a ball.

Nemanja doesn’t wake up in the morning. His old body loses the fight against the nasty infection that shuts down his lungs.

Tashi walks out of the house and disappears.

* * *

 

Flowers, Tabitha thinks in the safety of her mind, are completely useless gifts. What’s so great about giving dead plants to people? They will keep their color and perfume for such a short time that it’s a complete waste to spend actual money on them.

And yet. Here she is. Inside a flower shop glaring at the colorful display.

Closing her eyes, the young girl decides to shut luck it out and randomly grabs a flower and pulls. In her haste, her wristwatch gets tangled onto something and her eyes shot open with the sound of glass breaking.

Ups.

“Good job me.” She praises herself, bending down to collect the big pieces.

“Miss?” a voice says. Tabitha twirls around still on her knees, her cheeks flushing under her tan and with wide eyes and a hasty sorry ready to roll of her tongue but she meets the gaze of –

Lithe built, pale skin, long wispy hair gathered at the base of his neck. He is drying his hands on the green thing tied around his clothes to protect them from dirt. His pearly eyes are sparkling with amusement and his thin lips curl in a smirk.

She knows him.

She knows that he knows her.

“I'm Noah,” he says, getting closer to her. His long fingers reach out. “And you are?”

“Tabitha.” The introduction is flat. She’s still trying to kick-start her brain into action and get over the fact that _he is right in front of her._ “But you can call me Tenten.”

His eyes twinkle as Tabitha grasps his hand. Electricity shots through her veins at the feel of his smooth skin. “Neji.” Their smile is small yet genuine. Any observer would be compelled to turn their gaze away as it’s such a private display of emotion.

“You remember then?” Tabitha – _Tenten_ – asks hopeful but braced for a negative answer.

Noah huffs. “Every single one.”

That’s all he manages to say as the brunette throws herself into his chest and almost knocking them over. Neji, _Neji!,_ laughs into her ear, his breath tingling her neck and sending shivers down her spine. His strong arms wind around her shoulders and they both sigh, content.

Reluctantly, he steps away from their embrace and kneels down to clean the broken shards.

“What a mess,” Tabitha drags the strap of her red backpack higher up her shoulder, embarrassed to be clumsy. “Wanna date?”

She grins. “Hell yeah. If you can keep up old man.”

“I'm only 20.” He argues. Tenten raises one thick eyebrow and points at her high school uniform. Feeling his cheeks heat up Neji adds, “Nothing  uhm – _inappropriate_ until you're legal.”

Tenten laughs, light and cheery like wind chimes. 

“Let’s manage to not die this time.” He – _Neji_ – proposes and the brunette eagerly nods. “You betcha.”

* * *

 

Naaji (Arabic): Saved

Taika (Finnish): Magic, spell

Tessa (English): diminutive of Theresa

Neil (Irish-Scottish): Champion

Tsetseg (Mongolian): Flower

Nayden (Bulgarian): Found

Nemanja (Serbian): Not deceiving

Tashi (Tibetan): Good fortune

Noah (Hebrew): Rest

Tabitha (Arabic): Gazelle


End file.
